


That's the Kind of Love I've Been Dreaming Of

by pettifogger



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bottom Kylo Ren, Choking, Choking Kink, Crylo Ren, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Kylo Ren might be a dom but Ben Solo is a sub change my mind, Light Dom/sub, Post-TRoS, Praise Kink, Safeword Use, Size Kink, Somewhere Anakin is rolling his eyes, Submissive Kylo Ren, Their safeword is sand, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22332589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettifogger/pseuds/pettifogger
Summary: “Choke me,” Ben says, and Rey stops moving.“Huh?”Or: if the SS Reylo is a trash ship, Sub Kylo is its trashier lifeboat. Look at me: I'm the captain now.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 109
Collections: Reylo Hidden Gems





	That's the Kind of Love I've Been Dreaming Of

“Choke me,” Ben says, and Rey stops moving.

“Huh?”

It’s not the first time he’s done something that Rey questions since he came back from the dead. More than once, she’s turned over in bed to find him watching her with half-lidded eyes, gaze slipping from her lips to the rise and fall of her chest. It took several instances of catching him like that for her to realise he wasn’t ogling her or categorizing her body like a potential murderer; he was making sure she was still breathing. 

“Like — with the Force?”

He flushes, redness blooming on his cheekbones, up to his ears and down to his chest. Rey realises that “Huh?” may not have been the correct responses. “Forget it,” he says, and grips her hips like he wants her to start grinding again, make her come so hard she forgets his request. 

Rey won’t let him get away that easy. She takes her hands off him and holds them in hers. She brings one of his big hands up to her cheek, kissing his knuckles. “No, stop,” she says. “Let’s talk about this.”

“I — it was a stupid idea,” he insists. “Forget it.”

She can already see him closing into himself; his eyes are clouding with the telltale curtain of self-hate, the spiral of _I’m terrible_ and _I don’t deserve her_ and _why the fuck did I say that_ and _you worthless thing_ that she can feel through the bond even as he tries to shut her out. She’ll do anything to break the cycle. This time, she drops his hands, places her palms on his chest, and starts rocking against him again. He groans, leaning his head against the place where her shoulder meets her neck.

“God, yes,” he chokes out, and she suspects that she’s interrupted the internal monologue of _you’re doing everything wrong_. For added measure, she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing his face into her chest. Her nimble fingers find his hair and weave through it. 

After a moment of rocking, finding their rhythm again, she tugs on his hair lightly. A groan, muffled against her chest, vibrates through her. She tests her theory, pulling his hair harder, yanking his head away from her.

At this angle, she can look down at his face and stars, she likes what she sees: pupils blown wide, making his brown eyes almost black, kiss-bitten lips red and shiny, a flush high on his cheekbones, mouth open in a shocked “O” at the roughness of her gesture. Sometimes he forgets what a scavenger is capable of. 

She hums, hand still tangled in his curls, looking at his face and that _fuck-me_ expression. “You’re pretty like this,” she tells him.

His eyes widen a little. _Too far?_ she wonders. _Too late._ She leans down to kiss him, biting his lip, chasing his tongue with hers. She rocks her hips in his lap, just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy.

“Is this what you wanted,” she asks, “or did you want more?”

She has no idea what’s come over her. Sometime about his complete surrender to her, the supplication of his body, has let loose a wild animal in her chest. In the back of her mind, she hopes this is what he was asking for.

His eyes flutter shut and he groans, the vibration traveling through him and into her. The effect of his body language is ruin me, please. “More.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “More what?

Looking at her from behind a messy shock of black hair, he looks wrecked: “More — please.” 

She lets go of his hair and lifts herself out of his lap. He looks bereft at the movement, fingers reaching out to chase her even as she shuffles down the bed. She pulls him down with her, away from the headboard. “On your back.” It’s an order.

He complies. _Such a good boy,_ she thinks, and reminds herself to tell him that. 

She climbs on top of him, sliding her hands down his chest, onto his flat stomach, tracing her finger of the v-line of his hips. “Come on,” she says, and he does: he holds her hips in his big hands, lines her up, and slides in with one smooth stroke. If she hadn’t taken him earlier, and yesterday, and countless days before, his size would be shocking. Now it feels like a welcome stretch — the right side of too much.

With the last bit of sanity she can muster, she asks, “What do you say if you want me to stop?”

“Sand.”

It takes all the effort in the world not to giggle at the seriousness with which he says it. When they established that, he looked at her like she’d lost her mind. _Why?_ he’d asked. _Because I kriffing hate sand,_ she said. _Have you ever been to Jakku? It’s everywhere._ She smothers her giggle with a smirk that she hopes evokes a sense of self-assured, sexy confidence. 

“Hands off,” she tells him, and takes both his hands in her own. She presses them into the bed over his head, holding them there with one hand and maybe a bit of the Force. Just to make her point clear. “Will you keep those there for me?”

“Perfect.” 

He swallows, the column of his neck moving. She wants to bite him. She lets go of his hands and he dutifully keeps them above his head, even as one of her hands slides up his chest to his collarbone to the very base of his neck. 

He tosses his head back onto the mattress, baring his neck to her. A bolt of arousal jolts through her. He is so fucking pretty like this: solid and real underneath her legs, all thick muscle and strength, but his head is thrown back, sex-curled hair a halo around him on the bedsheets, back arched just slightly, pale throat exposed to her. _I want to eat him alive,_ she thinks, an animalistic through that can’t express her desire to take every part of him, ride him until he can’t speak and comes and comes with her. 

She settles for wrapping her fingers around his neck — gently — her hand looking almost comically small above the broadness of his shoulders.

“Does this feel good?”

He nods curtly. “More,” he begs, just above a whisper.

She tightens her grip just a bit. “Okay?” 

A grin flickers in the corners of his mouth.

“Okay.” She starts to move. She rocks her hips, rolling against his body, picking up the pace as she sees the muscles in his arms strain with the effort of keeping them above his head. Her fingers tighten around his neck again and she feels him moan. The vibrations spread through her hands up her arms. It feels like the hum of a lightsaber, the buzz of the Force.

His hands are still above his head and he is so open to her — every part of him bared to her, trusting her with his hand wrapped around his throat, trusting her with his air, his breath, everything, and she fucks him and chokes him and _oh, stars,_ she understands why he asked her to do this. Usually, he’s the one who talks when they have sex — babbling filth, telling her how good she feels, how tight and wet she is around him, how much he wants her, begging her to let him taste her or go faster or go harder — and she hates the silence without his voice. Her earlier thought comes to mind and it falls from her unbidden — “You’re such a good boy.”

His eyes fly open and he stops moving. Her hands jerk away from his neck. He didn’t ask her to stop, but the look on his face could either be terror or arousal — she can’t tell.

Before she can get a word in, Ben closes his eyes, the familiar flush on his cheeks and chest. “Say it again,” he asks. 

Rey has learned her lesson about questioning the things he needs when they’re in bed. “You’re a good boy,” she says. He groans. “You’re so good to me,” she says, rolling her hips. “You feel so _good,_ you know that? You fuck me so well,” she says, wrapping both hands around his throat. The pressure is on the outer sides of his neck, making sure he can still breath. “Your cock feels so good — so big,” she chokes out, chasing the friction between them. Hands gripping tighter, together. “You’re so good to me. Come for me, Ben. Be good for me, please.” 

That does it. His hands snap down to her waist and he holds her in place as his hips thrust up once, twice, three times, pulsing inside her. She lets go of his throat and he heaves a breath, gasping out, “Fuck, yes, Rey, yes — so good, so good, _fuck.”_

It doesn’t take long for her to follow him, grinding against his body with his hands around her waist. She comes clutching him to her, face buried in the crook of his neck, mouth a silent circle. They fall into bed a tired mess. She curls against his side, fingertips tracing the small bruises blossoming on the side of his neck. It looks good on him — a necklace of marks that announce her claim over his body.

He can feel her possessiveness radiating off her and smirks. “I thought you would like that,” he hums. 

She doesn’t want to admit how much she liked it but smiles in spite of herself.

“Thank you.” 

She looks up at his face, beautifully open and sincere. She reaches up to kiss him once, closed-mouthed, sweet. “My pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> The basic premise: after Force-healing Rey as in the end of TROS, Leia's life-force transfers to Ben and he survives. That is the only shred of plot here. 
> 
> Title from "Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier. 
> 
> I'm not on any social media in a fandom capacity, so I'll do my best to keep up with comments and such here. Thanks for indulging me, friends.
> 
> EDIT 4 April 2020: Now that I know that there are youngins on this site reading Star Wars kink fic (thanks, tiktok and Insider), I am obligated to say that this fic does not contain enough discussion and negotiation of the kink in question. I am not a sex educator, so don’t take your kink cues from me and my questionable fic! If you’re a grown ass adult, do your own research before you try new things, and if you’re not a grown ass adult, this is not for you.


End file.
